recurrent

I travel to the
same garden again,
to reach for
fruit of odd shape,
pristine fragrance

to smooth the chalk drawings
between
my calloused fingertips

those pants are musical
their stripes spelling
serpentine phrases on the
softest silver flute

lightly scented linens,
ask familiar questions
dappled sunlight
creating the most gentle hum

a hoofbeat rhythm
sounds like sweet
lazy sex

the time…
a whole clock-full

her eyes are
twenty miles deep,
prussian blue

I know I’ve been
here

before

it rushes me back
to then,
was it
that long ago?

and this bed of greenery
and melting chocolate
longing

that which has
created the most
uncomfortable happiness

tawmnation